


Inner Pieces

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Fluff, Romance, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-22
Updated: 2005-01-22
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin comes home to find Brian in a strange position.  Takes place just after 410.





	Inner Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

My portfolio feels heavy- heavier than usual. But maybe that’s just all the extra weight that I have been carrying around for the past few weeks. The shit just keeps on coming. Finally having moved past the bashing, it only seems right that I should have to face my boyfriend’s having cancer. Not that the cancer was enough. First I had to find out through an answering machine, then get kicked out, then get humiliated, then get taken back. Maybe the weight is just a result of exhaustion, because even Brian knows how exhausting he can be.

The elevator seems to be taking forever today, making me wish that I had just taken the stairs. All I want to do is crawl in my- no- Brian’s bed. I have to remind myself. Whoever the bed belongs to, I want to curl up into it and sleep for days; I feel that I’ve deserved it. And it doesn’t help that I’m in a shit mood.

I hate Thursdays because on Thursdays I have art history followed by life painting and drawing. Two hours of the most tedious notes possible emitted from the infamously monotonous Professor Doran plus two more hours of hell on my hand. Today it has been particularly spastic, causing me to swipe a blob of sienna brown across the neck and right shoulder of the woman I had been working on for four weeks. Knowing my situation, Professor Riley told me not to worry and that I could come in to fix it; she’d even give me some extra time if necessary. But I don’t want to have to fix it or come in for extra time that I don’t have. Time I want- need to spend taking care of my sick boyfriend though I would never admit it, especially not to Brian.

When the elevator finally reaches the third floor, I rush out. I pull my keys from my bag, sliding them into the door and unlocking it. I walk in with my eyes closed and go directly to the island in the kitchen, a path I know well. Placing my portfolio down on the counter, I rub my eyes as I turn to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. The cool air feels good on my flushed cheeks, and I take a long drink. I wouldn’t mind something a bit harder than water, but it’s still early and I have homework to do.

I close the refrigerator and place the half-drunken bottle of water down next to my portfolio. Walking around the island, I start when I see the strangest image laid out in front of me in the middle of the loft floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brian, why are you on the floor like that? I didn’t even realize you were home,” I tell him in a scolding tone, sounding a frightening lot like my mother.

Brian doesn’t seem to have heard me, or maybe he’s simply ignoring me. Either is just as possible, as Brian seems to be lost somewhere inside his head. He’s sitting on the floor in just a pair of old jeans- jeans that I happened to love on Brian. It’s the first time he has worn them since the surgery. His bare feet are pressed together, and his wrists are resting delicately on his bent knees. Eyes are shut, and a lit cigarette is hanging loosely in between his lips. It’s burned almost to the end.

“Brian? Did you hear me? What are you doing?”

“Meditating,” Brian answers. His speaking makes the cigarette bounce up and down, causing the unshed ashes to fall all over his pants. I laugh.

“Meditating?” I ask, incredulous. “Since when do you meditate?”

“Since right now,” Brian says. His eyes are still closed.

“Okay... Any particular reason for this sudden decision to meditate?” Ordinarily this would seem like a stupid question. After an experience like cancer, it would make perfect sense that a man of faith, or even a remotely spiritual man, would take to meditating as a means of finding peace. But Brian?

Sighing, Brian finally opens his eyes and removes the cigarette from his mouth, smashing it out in the ashtray that is placed beside his left knee. He stares up at me and I stare right back. Our eyes are locked and neither one of us is going to budge. Brian presses his tongue into his cheek; I cross my arms.

“Well?”

Brian shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seemed like a good idea.”

“Mm hm.” And still it makes no sense. Biting my bottom lip, I take a few cautious steps toward Brian.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s fucking disturbing.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s just not a position I ever thought I’d see you in.”

“Well, you never know with me.”

“This is true,” I agree and take a few more steps. I am close enough now to see that I’m not invading anything- any kind of personal space that Brian may be needing. Kicking off my shoes, I never take my eyes off of him; after a minute he looks away. Something is bothering him, and I could probably take a good guess as to what.

I’m standing over him. Still Brian doesn’t look at me, so I sit down in front of him. I reach out to touch his shoulder, but the second my fingers meet his bare flesh, he flinches. I hate that. It makes me feel dirty.

“What?”

He shakes his head but still won’t look up. He’s watching the last bit of smoke curl up from the finished cigarette. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“I thought we were trying honesty for a change,” I tell him. “I thought that we were done with hiding.”

He’s shaking his head at me because he thinks whatever it is, I won’t understand. “You wouldn’t understand.” I know him too well.

“It doesn’t matter if I understand or not.” This time I wrap my fingers around his bare foot. He doesn’t move. “All I have to do is listen.”

His lips are pursed; he’s debating whether or not to tell me. It’s now or never, and I think he knows that. “Do you think I’m being punished?”

“What?”

“Do you think... is it even possible that God gave me cancer for being gay?”

It’s hard to answer a question like that, especially since I can’t speak for God. “No. I don’t think you got cancer as a punishment for being gay. Why would you think that?”

Finally he looks up at me. “My mother came to see me.”

“What? When?”

“Right before I came to Babylon the other night. She stopped by my office.”

Fuck. “Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t seem important. I mean, I didn’t think that the things she’d said would get to me. They never have before.”

Not that you’d admit anyway. But we know better. “And she told you that you got cancer as a punishment?”

He nods.

“And this is why you’re meditating?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I just thought that I might try to get in touch with my spiritual side. See if I even have one.”

“And?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

I laugh. “I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way of doing it.”

He doesn’t find it very funny. “I feel like an asshole.”

“You are an asshole,” I say. He cracks a smile.

“Thanks,” he says. We sit in silence for a few moments before he slowly pulls apart his feet. He’s letting me in. I scoot forward and he wraps his legs around me. What a strange sight we must make sitting here in the middle of the hardwood floor. I drape my arms over his shoulders and hug him; I think he needs to be held. It’s what we all need from time to time.

“You’re not being punished,” I assure him. “People get sick, shit happens. But you’re going to be fine. The real punishment would have been if I hadn’t taken you back.” He says nothing, but I know he knows I’m right.

Sliding my head back, we press our foreheads together. Skin to skin, he feels warm and welcoming. The tips of our noses are touching slightly, my eyes are closed but I can tell that his are on me. I feel calm like this, like the Earth could be shattering around me and I wouldn’t know. For a while I thought my world was falling apart, but he’s sitting here and we’re wrapped in each other’s arms.

My hands travel down from his shoulders and our fingers intertwine. 

“Here,” he says.

“What?”

“I think this is what it should feel like.”

“What should?”

“Meditation. I think it should be just like this.”

I think he’s right.


End file.
